


Smuppets And Starbucks

by deitaru



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Angst, Lots of Angst, M/M, Tears, Travel, Washington, dildo refrences, frappes and mochas, i think, no sburb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deitaru/pseuds/deitaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dave Strider attends a Sex-Toy convention in Washington and deals with not telling his best bro where he is. Even though said bro lives in the area and they've never actually met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smuppets And Starbucks

You weren’t sure why you hadn’t told John you were travelling to Washington. He would have leapt at the opportunity to see you, of that you were sure. He’d even brought up the subject many times but something inside of you made you hesitate. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him. He was your best friend, as far as internet friendships could go. You just lived so far apart and money was tight and you really couldn’t see the point in making plans that would never come to fruition. But here you were: standing with a duffel bag full of smuppets at Sea-Tac Airport. In lovely, rainy, cold-as-fuck Washington. Home state of John Egbert A.K.A ghostyTrickster, A.K.A. your closest friend. And about as far from your comfort zone as you could get. And yet, he had no idea. You were literally within driving distance from him and he had no clue. It was humbling and terrifying all at once. If you knew his address you could literally just show up at his door. The look on his face would be priceless. But you were only in town for one reason and it wasn’t exactly a reason to be proud of.  
“Dave, I’m trusting these to you.” The voice echoed almost audibly in your memory and you scowled, waving your arms in the air as if it was a tangible entity you could banish with the movement of your hands. You had no idea why you agreed to go to the god damn sex toy convention in Seattle for your bro. Maybe… maybe a part of you did secretly yearn for a glimpse of Egbert. But then again you were staying in some four-star hotel, all expenses paid courtesy of Smuppet Co and no one turned down that shit. Not to mention the ever looming fear of waking up buried in plush rump.   
So here you were. Standing in the airport and totally lost. The signs were so confusing and everyone looked like they had someplace to be: scarves wound tightly around pale, untanned necks and coffee cups clenched tightly in hands that had seen far too much comfort and not enough pain. You meandered for a while, looking around, trying not to make the disdain on your face too evident. Eventually you managed to find the exit and you emerged from the building to encounter a high wind and pouring rain. And you had thought he was kidding whenever he mentioned the weather. You saw a sign for the taxis, being eighteen without a license was one of the burdens of your life, doomed to a dangerous journey of public transportation with the added perks of airborne illness and damp bus seats. Regardless, you hailed a taxi and got in, muttering the address to the hotel.   
“Kinda strange to be wearing shades like that on a day like this, don’t you think?” So it wasn’t just Texans who liked making idle conversation. You gave the cab driver a halfhearted shrug and don’t bother elaborating. You were entitled to your own fashion choices thank you very much. Not that it was entirely a fashion statement. Red irises weren’t exactly a thing you wanted to broadcast and since John did give you these shades you might as well put them to good use. The cab driver seemed to realize you weren’t exactly in the mood for talking and was silent the remainder of the drive, allowing you to stare out the window in thought, watching the rain fall grossly down amongst the skyscrapers and apartment buildings of the city.  
“We’re here,” Was the next thing he spoke, strictly business now. He told you the fare and you handed over the sleek black strip of plastic without even blinking an eye. All expenses paid. You could have driven to Timbuktu and back and this baby would have covered it. But you weren’t really interested in fucking around. The flight had taken a lot out of you and your legs grew heavier with each step up the stairs to your room. You barely took note of the suite as you stumbled in, collapsing on the king-sized bed with a loud exhale of breath and a corresponding sigh. Damn this was comfy. You blinked a few times and closed your eyes, not bothering to remove your clothes before falling asleep. 

The convention was unremarkable. Bro had given you explicit directions on where to go and what to do, and everything went according to plan. You were tempted to buy a dildo from a woman with way too much silicone in her chest but decided against it. You had no use for it, and all it would do was cause unwanted attention. Your eyes kept flicking around, as if someone would notice you. But here, you were nobody: just a Smuppet advertiser at a gathering of equally ambiguous sex toy salesmen. And since you were as far from Texas as you could conceive without leaving the continental US it was more than unlikely that anyone would come up to you and exclaim, “Dave Strider?!” expecting you to know who they were and how they knew you. It was nice, to be nobody, you mused. Not that you were somebody at any other time of your life, but back home Bro wasn’t exactly just a name. And you, as his younger brother, carried some of that fame. Second handed down to you whether you liked it or not. And you tended to sway more towards the not. There was a barbeque held afterwards, but your nap the day before had done little to ease your weariness and you declined the celebration of phallic foodstuffs in favor of a more relaxed venue. A place called Starbucks. You had them, back home, but they were by no means as popular as they were here. There was one on every god damn street corner for Christ’s sake. You could literally spin in a circle until you were dizzy and no matter what direction you ended up facing you would be staring the coffee shop in the eyes. Metaphorically, of course. Coffee shops didn’t have eyes. That was just fucking creepy.  
So it was no surprise to you when you ended up in one. You had to blink a few times to adjust your eyes to the lighting, and were actually taken aback a little by the décor. It was November. Why the hell were there imitation snowmen surrounding you and a barista in an elf hat. Jesus Christ they really pre-advertised this Christmas shit. You walk in, shaking yourself slightly to get the rain out of your hair, and stared up at the menu.   
“What the fuck is a frappe.”  
You didn’t realize you had spoken aloud until the barista replied in a much-too-cheerful tone.  
“Well, it’s a blend of…” Blah blah blah. You didn’t really care. You weren’t getting one. Where the hell was the regular coffee? Mochas, Lattes… Nothing that sounded even remotely appetizing. You roll your eyes and walk right up to the counter, seeing as there was no one else in there you didn’t bother walking all the way to the line. “What can I get for you today sir?” You glance at the barista and note messy black hair, a dorky smile, and rectangular glasses. Typical city kid.   
“Well you see…” You peer at his nametag, the handwritten letters had rubbed off slightly but if you looked closely under the obnoxious lighting you could make it out, “… John I would like a—” Wait, John? You’re taken aback for a moment before you rationalize. There were probably a million people in Seattle alone named John. Even if he did look about the right age… No way John would work at a Starbucks. He was probably nestled in his home, safe and sound, watching stupid movies. Not standing here looking at you expectantly, waiting to cash in your five dollar coffee. You clear your throat, “Yeah I don’t see an option for just plain black coffee on the menu and…” Before you finish your sentence, he interjects, beaming and looking at you with bright eyes.  
“Well not many people order just plain coffee! But we do have it, and I can make one for you no problem at all!”   
You nod gratefully as he asks you what size, and you reply medium. “So a vente black coffee coming right up!” He scribbles with black sharpie on the cup and then looks back up at you with a twinkle in his eye. “Name?” Was he seriously hitting on you? No wait, they did this back home too. You thought it was pointiless if you were the only guy in the place, but whatever.   
“Just put Dave,” you reply, and a stupid smile crosses his face as he scribbles the name,   
“Yknow, I have a friend named Dave! We met online a while ago, he’s super cool. Or at least he thinks he is!” A tinkling laugh as he walks around in the back, preparing the drink, “He lives in Texas though, so I’ve never met him, but I know I will one day! I mean, it’s only a matter of time before either I convince him to get his butt up here or I fly down there to surprise him!” Your heart plummets to your toes and you swallow hard, throat constricting painfully. “That’s why I got this job, actually, to save money for a plane ticket!” He peers over at you from behind the coffee maker and you quickly compose yourself. Your mind was racing a mile a minute and you opened your mouth to confess, to say that you were that Dave, to reply with something witty, something “cool.”   
The tinkling of the door breaks the silence and you step back as a woman enters, smiling widely, her long dark hair almost literally floating around her. She lowers the hood on her jacket and you watch in confusion as John’s face lights up in a smile. She practically skips over to the counter, barely giving you a glance, and reaches both arms over to hug John around the neck. He lets out that god-awful, heart-wrenching laugh that you had never imagined being able to hear.   
“Not here, I’m working!” He whispers, and she giggles cutely, stepping back and bouncing lightly on her heels. Your mouth snaps shut. You weren’t sure what you expected but this… this definitely wasn’t on the list of even the remote possibilities that had ever crossed your mind when it came to John. A girlfriend, maybe. A hot babe who visited him at work and giggled?? It was weird. And you were so out of there. You turned and left, not looking back, the coffee left steaming on the counter and confusion crossing John’s face.  
“I guess he didn’t want a drink after all!” He said lightly as the door closed behind you with a cheerful tinkle.   
You weren’t sure why you were crying as the plane landed back in Huston. You didn’t know why the tears seemed to carve rivers in your cheeks or why your nose made a sound much like sandpaper every time you took a breath. Was it that he hadn’t told you? You talked practically every day. Certainly something like that should have come up, right? A job you didn’t know about, a girlfriend that was literally the surprise of the century. And yet John still only talked about stupid Matthew McWhatshisface and his insanely huge book of pranks. He hadn’t mentioned a woman, had he? You pulled out your phone and scrolled through a few of your pesterlogs. Nothing. You could have missed it, but something like that would have stuck in your memory. John had a life outside of you.  
And you didn’t.

And that stung more than thirty wasps after their hive was knocked down by a stray baseball. It burned your throat and your hands shook. The phone buzzed in your lap and you nearly dropped it.

GT: hey dave! how was your weekend? 

How was your weekend, Dave? You use the back of your hand to wipe your face and your fingers tremble ever so slightly as you type.

TG: it was fine  
TG: same ol same ol  
TG: nothing much really

 

And you knew that you would never travel to Washington again. All expenses paid or not. There was nothing good in that state. Nothing but Smuppets and Starbucks.


End file.
